"It has been over a year." Irina Derevko smoothed her palm over the supple leather of her chair, glancing up over the desk to arch an eyebrow questionably at the handsome young man who stood in her doorway. "And yet I still have yet to meet the leader of this organization that keeps requesting my services."
Simon Walker grinned sheepishly, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle in his suit as he flopped into the chair across from her. "Don't shoot the messenger, darlin'. I don't even know who keeps askin'. You're lucky you know as much as ya do. I can't even tell my team."
Prickles of amusement forced a small smile to tug at her mouth. "So you're telling me that your group of petty thieves and murderers do any little thing you tell them, for no reason at all?"
"Don't make 'em like they used to," Simon answered lazily, balancing a boot onto her antique desk. "They just like getting paid."
"Get your feet off my desk," she said crisply. "Did you bring what I asked you for?"
"Oh, yeah, here." Fishing out a newspaper from his pocket, Simon gave it a disgusted frown, before tossing it on the desk. "First bird I've met who can't get enough of her daily news."
Slipping the London Globe under a folder, Irina curbed the instinct to immediately tear open the paper to find the personals section. To keep hoping was ridiculous. Jack Bristow should have been dead to her.
But it was a weakness. She just kept looking.
His obsession had become her own, and it was because of her phantom memories of her daughter and her husband that she kept up the charade, tolerated the demands of what was quite possibly the most dangerous organization she had ever come into contact with.
Morality never came into question. Irina had long ago realized she had no morality, and with Jack behind bars and Sydney disappeared, the CIA held nothing for her but a host of memories and a place on their most wanted list.
"When on earth are you going to fix that ridiculous hair cut?" she snapped, glancing up at the rugged young thug.
Simon looked a little hurt by that, patting at the ridiculous cow-lick looking thing and shifting once again.
"Julia liked it allright."
Julia...
Irina closed her eyes, taking in a deeper breath, fingers automatically clamping over the newspaper.
Julia...
How could they have been so close and yet so far away?
"And what of your paramour?" she began, forced ease in her tone as she projected what she knew to be a glance of pure curiosity, nothing more. "You told me you would bring your deadly little vixen to meet me the next time you dropped by."
"I'm not a liar, she's disappeared."
Once again, the hope that had built so steadily into Irina's heart sank into a painful gap, below her stomach.
"Pardon?"
"Yeah, she's gone. Been gone for months. One minute she's there, happily plugging people away. Next minute, she just up and-"
"Disappears," Irina whispered. "Of course." Closing her eyes, a bitter laugh on her the cusp of her lips, Irina could not help but shake her head at the futileness of the whole game. If Julia was Sydney... if there had been a way of getting closer to the Covenant without being swallowed whole...
Simon paused, eyes narrowing. "You all right? Look like you're shaking a bit."
"I've got a headache," she lied, rubbing at her temples and straightening up. "What can I do for the Covenant today?"
"Information," he said immediately. Opening his jacket, he produced a blue folder, placing it on her desk. "What do you think?"
Irina took it without comment, giving a narrowed glance before skimming the pages. "They'll need quite a bit of finances to achieve this - and their point person is not up to the task."
"Hey!" he sounded almost offended. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that if they do this, they'll need a man called Sark. He is currently being held in custody with the CIA, and it would be wise to negotiate his release."
"Allright, and how will they do that?"
"Simon, if the Covenant expects me to do everything, then I expect them to pay me a little better." Her eyes narrowed. "Give them what I have told you, and then tell the Covenant that the rest will be shared the moment they send someone other than their hired hand. Don't misunderstand, Simon. You're very handsome, but I don't quite trust you."
The 'hired hand' in question didn't seem to take offense to the comment.
"Fair enough." Pushing out of his chair, he tipped his head. "Love the way that shirt fits, by the way. Making my pants tighter as we speak."
"Walker." Irina's voice was clipped, hard, giving no indication she had even heard his flirtatious parting remark. "They will receive nothing more from me until I learn more about them. They have used my knowledge quite enough. If they want an even trade, tell them I'll be waiting."
Simon considered. "Right then, good night."
She never released her hold on the gun under her desk until the door
shut properly.
Burying her fingers in her hair, Irina closed her eyes, kept still for another full minute. It was as if she had forgotten how to breathe.
It took a moment to remember her chants, reclaim the correct breathing pattern, find enough focus to erase the panic, the frustration.
She had waited too long and she had lost Julia, and with it came the ever-frustrating nagging doubt that Sydney was perhaps truly gone.
Another failed promise to Jack, to herself.
Every rational part of Irina warned her not to continue with this nonsense. The covenant was dangerous, and she knew too little about them to consider playing both sides.
There was only enough loyalty for one, if she wanted to live.
It was the smart decision, the one she knew she had to take. The one she had already taken.
Her eyes opened, fell upon a newspaper that had been nearly forgotten in the preceding events.
She considered shoving it over into the trashcan, erasing its existence.
Instead her weakness got the better of her.
She opened it.
--
Handel_4me: Couldn't believe it when I saw your ad in the London Globe.
Some would consider it odd that a person would travel nearly two thousand miles to take part in a private chat. Irina had done it without hesitation. Fingers poised over the keyboard, she fought for emotion, a small sob of relief exhaling as she kept her eye on the cursor.
Mozart_182: GLAD YOU'RE ALIVE.
She laughed, a short burst that escaped before she could quench it. Oh, God it was him. Him and that horrible way he had at chatting. Typing in all bloody capital letters. And of course, there he was, with his way of saying everything as a gross understatement. She quickly began to type back.
Handel_4me: You should have known better.
Jack's encoded message had been short, crisp. He had gotten out, he was free, but with the CIA. He needed to speak with her in a matter that was of some urgency.
Emotion aside, it was almost pathetic, the way she had reacted. For a moment, after catching that glimpse of an ad, she could not see, and then, had she not had the sense to move the paper away, she would have poured tears on the whole damned thing.
It was understated and almost a bit too formal, her first meeting with
Jack.
Mozart_182: OUR DAUGHTER IS ALIVE.
"Oh, God," she whispered, hands pressing to her mouth as she felt herself struggling for breath, a choking gasp leaving her body as the cold black letters burned into her consciousness.
Licking her lips in nervous anticipation, it took three tries with shaking fingers to finally type back.
Handel_4me: My God. How is she?
Sydney was alive. She was alive and with Jack. What had happened? Was she hurt? Where was she? Was she never Julia after all?
"Oh, please Jack, please hurry," she whispered.
Mozart_182: RECOVERING, THOUGH SHE DOESN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TWO YEARS. NEED YOUR HELP GETTING BACKGROUND ON A MAN NAMED ANDREAN LAZAREY.
"Andrean Lazarey?" Her fingers stilled, staring at the name as her teeth bit into her upper lip. Oh, God... had he figured it out...
Was it really Sydney then?
And if Sark was indeed released like she had directed the Covenant...
"Oh, God..."
There was too much to sift through. Too much to understand. She had promised not to keep any secrets from Jack, but this...
Licking her lips to regain the moisture in her suddenly parched tongue, her fingers quickly flew over the keyboard. Halfway through the sentence, Irina paused.
This was Jack, on the other end of this god-awful impersonal machine. Jack, who had kissed her so beautifully the last time she had seen him. The last time she had lain in his arms. Two words came without warning, and she pressed send before she had a chance to regret them.
Handel_4me: Will upload all intel to our FTP drop site. Miss you.
When he responded, she didn't care if she thought he was lying, or what secrets she would be forced to reveal now that the Covenant had, only that morning, accepted her offer to become more deeply involved in their plans.
Mozart_182: MISS YOU, TOO.
She smiled, the uncomfortable feeling of tears burning in her eyes forcing her to take in a ragged breath, steal a glance around her and press the small x on the corner of the window.
Her daughter was alive.
With a quick flutter of fingertips, she signed out of the carrier.
"Good-bye!" it said in its cheeriest, metallic voice.
Her chest was constricted slightly, and her small smirk was a bittersweet one.
"Good bye," she whispered.
Slipping on her sunglasses, Irina wrapped up the computer, offering a demure smile to the young man who held her coat for her.
She thanked him primly, smile frozen on her face as she walked out of the small café and surveyed her surroundings.
Her husband was free. Her daughter was alive.
The Covenant was growing stronger every day.
It was simple. Do everything in her power to help Jack protect Sydney, while at the same time maintain covert relations with a terrorist organization that sooner or later, the CIA would come after, thereby causing her to not only sacrifice her loyalties, but quite possibly lose her life in the crossfire that would occur the second Jack and Sydney realized she was not only helping them, but working for the Covenant. And if Sydney was indeed Julia, and if the Covenant was responsible for the transformation, then Irina would not only betray them, but kill every person involved.
"All right," she said slowly, digging her palms into the pocket of her trenchcoat. "It seems simple enough."
As she stepped daintily down the steps, her cellphone began to ring, vibrating in her pocket.
Pulling it out easily, she continued to walk, adjusting the knife under her shirt for easy retrieval.
"Irina Derevko."
--